


More Than Silver

by tinamachina



Category: Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinamachina/pseuds/tinamachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Locke breaks into Damcyan Castle in search of treasure.  He finds something more precious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Silver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ukefied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/gifts).



> For Ukefied's prompt: Edward and Locke. So, I have this thing where Locke likes to scale walls and steal things from castles. So he goes to Damcyan, right, and stumbles upon Edward, who is easily scared. And Locke is all like, '... riiight. Hey, you play harp?' and then they talk about music and birds or something IDEK. Or possibly do something cooler. The point is, Locke infiltrates Damcyan Castle and accidentally scares Edward.

The Silver Lyre was one of the oldest musical instruments in the world.  It was rumored that playing the Lyre could summon the spirits of those who passed into the other world.  It was last seen in the now fallen kingdom of Damcyan.  It might have been destroyed when the castle was firebombed.

Locke was going to find out for himself, as he looked up at the ruined gate.  The heavy iron-clad doors were locked tight, evidently from inside.  Since reports had told him that there were no survivors, save for one missing prince, Locke asked himself, _who locked the gate_?

Scaling walls was more fun anyway.  Locke hooked his boot-spikes around his feet, and then tossed a hook-line over the top of the stone wall.  Locke climbed up and over into the deserted courtyard.  The treasure hunter felt chills as he surveyed the devastation—smashed statuary, torched trees, craters wide enough to swallow a chocobo and massive stone towers reduced to piles of rubble. 

It was eerily silent, the kind of silence that could play tricks on the ears.  Locke did not believe in ghosts, but he could swear that he heard the ghosts of Damcyan’s lost souls playing the harp.

Locke wandered purposefully through the ruins of Damcyan, searched every gutted storehouse and crawled up and down every partially collapsed stairwell, searching for anything that could possibly hold the Silver Lyre.  What was left of the Treasure Tower was picked clean, and what was left behind was broken beyond repair.  It was not looking hopeful for the treasure hunter.

There was one tower that was still standing, although badly damaged.  Its windows were blown out, and Locke could almost see the moon shine straight through the tower.

On closer inspection, Locke realized that was not the moon.  There was a light from the top floor, and the sound of harp playing was more audible.

Locke climbed through a window, his clothing snagged by small shards of broken glass and warped cast iron.  He climbed the stone steps to a locked door. 

Someone was definitely playing the harp on the other side of the door.  Locke felt cold chills run up his spine.  He would have to rethink the whole “ghosts don’t exist” idea.

Locke picked the door open and, with a deep breath, pushed the door open.  The music stopped.  There was no one in the room, no one visible.  Someone was living here.  The bed looked like someone had only recently been sleeping in it.  In the dim moonlight, Locke could see piles of scrolls and books. Locke could smell oil from a lamp.  It had just been extinguished seconds ago.

“H-hello?”  Locke called out. 

No reply.  Not that Locke expected one.

Locke called out to what he thought and hoped was an empty room, “I’m just looking for a silver lyre.  Anybody seen one?”

Again, no response.  Locke found the lamp on a side table and, striking a match, relit it.  He swept the lamplight around the room, then knelt down and lifted the blankets on the bed.  Underneath was a pile of colorful clothes with a lock of blond hair sticking out.

“Um, hi?”  Locke said.

A terrified face appeared out of the clothing pile.

“It’s okay,” Locke said gently.  “I’m not here to hurt you.  Come on out.”  Locke motioned for the timid man to come out from under the bed.

Slowly, the trembling young man crawled out and stood up.  He was clutching an instrument.  It was neither silver nor a lyre.

“What’s your name?”  Locke asked, hoping to calm the frightened young musician.

“Edward,” the man looked down at the floor, “Prince of Damcyan.”

“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of you,” Locke said.  “I’m sorry about your home.”

Edward did not look at Locke.  “Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for something,” Locke answered, “A lost treasure, a silver lyre.”

Edward made a soft hum, “Why?”

Locke hesitated to give the honest answer, but he didn’t want an impoverished prince to think that Locke was just another scavenger.  “I heard it can speak to the dead.”

Edward looked up finally, “Is there someone you want to speak to?”

Locke nodded sadly, “Yeah, you can say that.”

“A lost love?” 

Locke was startled.  _How did he know_?  “Yeah.”

“The legend is wrong,” Edward said sadly.  “It’s not the instrument that speaks to those beyond this world, it’s the song.  The right chords, with the right heart, can reach the souls of our dearly departed.”

“I guess you’ve tried it, huh?”  Locke said quietly.

Edward bowed his head again, blond hair draping across his face.

“So, that was you playing the harp?”  Locke said brightly, hoping to change the mood.  “You’re really good.”

Edward raised his head, “I’m from a long line of minstrels.”

“Can I hear you play?”  Locke asked.  “Please?”

Edward smiled a little, and sat down on the bed.  Locke sat on the floor with his legs folded as Edward strummed the harp. 

The song may not have been the one that talks to the dead, but it did speak of sadness, of loss, of love lost.  Locke felt his heart swell and break, every pluck of the harp strings reverberating through his chest.  The song brought out feelings that Locke tried to keep buried deep down, or else they could crush him.

“Beautiful,” Locke heard his voice crack as Edward finished his song.

“I can play something else,” Edward said, seemingly happy to have an audience.  He played a brighter tune, happier, full of hope.

After Locke finished clapping, he asked, “So, why are you here all alone?”

“This is my home,” Edward said plainly.  “I will rebuild.  It will take time, but we shall rebuild.”

Locke nodded.  “I’m sorry I scared you.  I should go.”

“I gave the Silver Lyre to two friends of mine, as a wedding gift,” Edward said as Locke turned toward the door.

Locke was astounded, “But why?  That was your only treasure that you had left, wasn’t it?” 

Edward shrugged, “It is only a piece of silver.  Friends and family are the real treasure.”

From anyone else, that last sentence would seem too trite, but Locke smiled and nodded in agreement.  Locke waved, “Take care of yourself, Edward.”  Locke then left the castle, pleasantly surprised that the main castle gate was suddenly unlocked and wide open.


End file.
